No Knight In Shiny Armor
by SALJStella
Summary: After living a life believing that he has to save everyone else, someone finally saves Lawrence from himself. And the person who does that isn't a savior on the outside, and not even to himself, but still more of one than Lawrence ever was. AdamLawrence.


**A/N: ****Okay, so this is just… Well, it's my way to convince myself that I can be a good writer without the angst! So, all in all, this is a one-shot, it's happy, and, more importantly, not a mouthful! **_**And **_**a song-fic… Okay, it's a lot of things. Hope you like it! **

**Disclaimer: Adam and Lawrence are indeed my toyboys, but neither them, nor Saw are my possessions. And neither is the song 'When You Were Young.' **

**No Knight In Shiny Armor**

When Lawrence was a kid, he wanted to be a knight. He'd nagged his way to a toy armor and a sword from his parents, and he'd ran around at home and stabbed everything he saw with the great dreams of a child and the willpower of a young man, and then he'd knocked down his mom's fancy vase, and then, he stopped being a knight. Though reluctantly.

Then, he grew up. Got older, started college. And it really wasn't until then that his dreams changed.

He'd pretended that he stopped being a knight. On the outside, he'd matured long before then, but it was a big fat lie, and he knew it, too, even though he'd never admit it to anyone, not even himself.

On the inside, he still wanted to be a knight. On the inside, he wanted to pick up a new toy sword, swing it, break loose, break free, break down the door in expensive oak that parted him from the real world, the love, the naturalness, the door that trapped his soul, trapped his heart, stopped his blood from running freely in his veins, thickened it, made it slow like melted gelatin.

But when he started college, he stopped wanting that. His father had beaten that wish out of him, beaten out his dreams and visions about unconditional love and filled him with his view of it all, pounded it into him with his cold voice, said the same thing, over and over, until it turned into a silver spike that bored into Lawrence's brain, always the same cold voice, the same cold voice and the same cold eyes over the pipe and the thin, grey moustache:

_When you're a kid, you want to fight. When you grow older, your image of the world changes, and you get confused, so you want to watch other people fight. And when you're an adult, you're finally smart enough to stop caring about that shit._

That's what he said. And that's what Lawrence turned into.

When Lawrence started college, he didn't want to be a fighting knight anymore. Then, he just wanted to be a knight that simply walked into the castle, took the beautiful princess by the hand and walked out. No complications. No fighting, since he hadn't been raised to fight. And in college, there were no princesses, just random, wasted, giggly, twenty year-old girls with their thin arms around his neck, like they wanted to pull him down, drag him into the oh-well-I-guess-this-is-it-so-I'm-just-going-to-have-to-accept-it. And they'd succeeded, just like his father.

Maybe that's why it turned out the way it did.

Maybe that's exactly how he thought when he met Allison.

His dad had introduced him to the daughter of one of his business partners. Made that usual speech about how pretty and smart and single she was that he'd made so many times before, and in general, it _was _just like all the other times. The only difference was that this daughter had smiled a little wider, and since she actually _had _been pretty and smart and single… Well. Might as well marry the girl right away.

You take what you get.

And that was the thought that forced Lawrence back into the desire to be a knight.

He'd wanted to be a knight, but not with a toy sword, he'd wanted a big fucking axe, something big, something heavy, just _something _that'd get that fucking chain around his ankle away!

That's something he still remembers. Even now, when he doesn't want to be a knight, doesn't even _need _to be a knight, for once doesn't have to fight for someone and is happy with that. He left all his knightly instincts behind in that bathroom, but he really does remember it.

Remembers the desperation, the fear that ate away at his sensibility, the rationality he'd relied on for so long, remembers how his head got heavier by the second by the thought of everyone he wanted to save.

He'd wanted to be a knight. And he'd wanted to save himself, and then rise up on his white horse and once again come to the princess's rescue. He'd wanted to save the beautiful queen and her beautiful princess.

And he'd wanted to save the sarcastic, vulgar, poor, completely heart-wrenchingly adorable young man in the other end of the room.

But then, it had been enough. That's another thing Lawrence recalls afterwards. How he'd heaved himself out on his hands through that goddamned, dark hallway, gasping and sweating and bleeding, bleeding so awfully much, and then, just collapsed on the ground. Giving up.

_That's enough._

_That's enough for now._

And he'd actually been right. Because he had rescued. Rescued the queen even though he'd really been the one locked in a tower, the tower that was his marriage, rescued the princess, seen her little eyes sparkle when she saw him again.

_You sit here in your heartache_

_Waiting for some beautiful boy to_

_Save you from your old ways._

He'd saved. He'd gotten to be a knight. He'd gotten to keep his control, the one that had been his fuel. He'd gotten to save the ones he loved, and then been forced to trust that they got by without him.

Then, it had been enough.

Then, _he'd_ finally gotten saved. Saved from himself. Saved from his fighting for control.

And the one that saved him hadn't been a knight in shiny armor.

It had been someone who didn't even get it himself.

Someone who didn't even want to save him.

Someone Lawrence is looking at right now. When his knight is lying here, in bed, breathing heavily, sleeping soundly, his hair sticking together with sweat from what they did earlier tonight.

He's just sleeping. Small and thin, fragile, like a little boy. Like God tries to make Lawrence believe that he doesn't have any strength, any power, any sarcastic, rough energy that he can save lives with.

But the thing is that Adam still doesn't think so, either. Lawrence hasn't managed to convince him. The only thing he's managed to break down is the selflessness that's another thing that Adam doesn't even know about himself, another one of those things that are so obvious that you don't discover them unless you look at it through someone else's eyes.

Because Adam was so reluctant. So worried about being a burden, so tremendously anxious that even the morning after that first time, when Adam's hands that gripped blindly over Lawrence's body, his breaths that flowed into Lawrence's mouth, the chorus of moans that tumbled from his chest had proved that weather they liked it or not, they wouldn't be able to live without each other, he'd just looked at Lawrence, pleadingly, with those damp, grey eyes like rain clouds in his face, said the same thing, over and over, like a desperate prayer: _Lawrence, just go. Please. I'm not what you need. I'll only let you down._

Stupid Adam. Stupid little Adam.

Like Lawrence would ever want to go back to where he came from. Like he'd ever want to be in control ever again, like he ever longed back to the cold sweat that broke out on his forehead if any decision was made without him, the big house that was always quiet, menacingly quiet like the silence between him and Allison when they had dinner.

_And sometimes you close your eyes_

_And see the place you used to live_

_When you were young_

He thinks of it sometimes, sure. But with relief. Like he got away in the last minute.

But he doesn't miss it, he never will.

Adam didn't get it back then. He probably still doesn't.

Doesn't get that Lawrence isn't the powerful one of the two of them.

He still doesn't get that Lawrence gave himself a role he couldn't handle, that he wore an armor that was too heavy for him, that he can handle one made of cardboard that his mom bought him, but nothing else.

That's why he needs Adam.

Adam was born into the wrong body. People don't dare to believe his greatness if they don't know him, don't dare to trust that there is so much strength in his thin little body, that those slim shoulders can carry so much, so awfully much more than Lawrence ever could.

And more than anything, people don't dare to believe that he, with only sarcasms, imperfection, insecurity, addiction to nicotine, can save anyone. That a knight in shiny armor is hidden in a body that doesn't appear to even handle the weight of it.

_He doesn't look a thing like Jesus_

_But he talks like a gentleman_

_Like you imagined when you were young_

Lawrence still hasn't managed to explain this to Adam. When he finally gave up and let Lawrence move into, as he put it, _a fucking shithole with more cigarette smell than what should be able to fit into such a damn small space,_ he did it grumpily, in an almost funny way, and said that one thing, over and over: _I'm not what you need. I'll only let you down._

Lawrence smiles, where he's lying and watches Adam sleeping, and strokes a dark lock of hair from his forehead. No, Adam doesn't look like Jesus, and heaven knows he doesn't _act_ like Jesus, but he doesn't have to.

He's still more of a rescuer than Lawrence ever was. And if he's not Jesus, at least he should be Messiah. Because Messiah was sent down to Earth with the mission to save it, right?

Lawrence's smile gets wider, and he moves his hand down to Adam's shoulder, shakes him.

"Adam, wake up."

Adam mutters something, his so peacefully smooth forehead gets a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows. Lawrence shakes him harder.

"Adam!"

"What?!" Adam hisses, he sounds like an angry cat, and he still doesn't open his eyes. "For God's sake, Lawrence, it's four in the morning!"

"I know," Lawrence says and draws a hand over Adam's cheek. "I just had to thank you."

"Why the fuck would you do that?" Adam grumbles and rubs a fist against his one closed eye.

"You saved me."

Adam hisses something new, still inaudible, throws his hand out so that it hits Lawrence's face in a loose slap, and then bores his face into his chest, breaths warmly on his neck.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Adam mutters, and sneaks an arm around Lawrence's waist, "But whatever it is, we'll talk about it tomorrow. And _not_ in the morning, is that understood?"

He sounds like he's stoned, and Lawrence doesn't bother answering. Adam's breath is already slow and heavy on his neck, still sends little butterflies that circulate with his blood.

Adam and him are going to talk about it tomorrow. Lawrence has a day off, and Adam has nothing to do, so maybe they'll both have enough time for him to figure out exactly what he wants to say.

**I know what you're going to say: No angst. But after a little chat with Adam and Lawrence, I've learned that they're happy as long as they're together! And that they're even happier if you review!**


End file.
